Sherlock Holmes: Death Frisbee
by A Shinigami's Game
Summary: Genevieve (OC, not in the actual series) and Sherlock have been friends for as long as both can remember. But what happens when Sherlock's dangerous obsessions and fooling around with London's criminal underworld tear the two apart? (Switches off POV every chapter. Genevieve, Sherlock, and maybe a bonus Moriarty for kicks c; )


GENEVIEVE: CHILD GENIUS (GRADE 4)

He was a quiet boy. I watched him from the back of the class as he watched with his icy blue eyes from the front, where he always insisted on sitting. He said to the teacher once that he liked to sit in the front so he could observe all that went on more closely. She seemed a little shocked, but I don't think anyone knew what "observe" meant at the time.

I only really met Sherlock on the playground on the Monday after the first day of school. He came up behind me, all wrapped tight in his dark little coat that was ten sizes too big, and stood next to me while I looked from the top of my favorite little hill at all the children playing.

"Is it a good view from the back of the class?" he asked casually, his small hands shoved in the gaping pockets on his thighs. I didn't so much as turn to look at him.

"I guess so. You can see almost everything from where I sit," I replied. His head snapped towards me, his eyes suddenly bright with interest.

"Everything? Really?"

I nodded solemnly. "Everything."

Sherlock sighed and turned back to see the children playing about the jungle gym.

"Did you pick the seat on purpose, then?" he asked after a beat of silence. Now it was my turn to look at him.

"What do you mean?" I said, confused.

"I mean, did you pick that seat in the back of the classroom so you could see everything _on purpose?" _He glanced at me, through the corner of his eye.

"I-I…" I stuttered, unsure of how to answer his question. "Er… no, I guess."

"You guess?" he said softly, raising an eyebrow. "It's either yes or no. There's no 'I guess'."

"No," I said more firmly, looking him straight in the eye. "Why in the world would I do that?" He shrugged, turning away once more.

"I thought you were like me," he said thoughtfully. I stared at him for a long while until he looked at me again. "What?"

"Like you? What's that supposed to mean?" I said, trying to keep the reproach from my voice. He chuckled and sighed again, looking down to kick at the damp grass.

"I thought you liked to observe too, so that was why you chose a seat where you could see everything." His voice was sort of distant, almost sad. "I thought…" He stopped abruptly, looking up and shaking his head. "It's nothing. Silly, really."

"Well…" I said softly. "I don't mind silly."

He finally turned to look me full in the face, then. I noticed how prominent his cheekbones were, how dark his curly hair was, how clear his blue eyes were. His lips quirked up into something of a smile as he began to back away, those blue eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Like I said, it's nothing," he declared as he turned and began to march away, flipping up the collar of his huge coat against the chill and walking off in the direction of the schoolhouse.

I stared after him for a long time, past until he disappeared behind a few trees in the courtyard, and until the teacher began to call for us to come back inside. It was getting cold, and she didn't want us to be out in the crispy air.

I ran to catch up with the other children, searching the crowd for Sherlock, but unable to find him. And he was remarkably tall for his age, so he was usually easy to spot, always standing a ways away from the bunch of milling, laughing kids.

The class proceeded to trickle inside until eventually, I was the only one still standing outside in the eerie silence, taking one last look around for Sherlock before turning to go inside, but was stopped by a light tap on the shoulder.

I nearly jumped out of my skin as I turned to face a pair of blazing blue eyes.

"Come on!" Sherlock whispered excitedly, tugging my sleeve and jerking his pale chin in the direction of the forest, a great big grin on his face. "Hurry, before they notice we're gone!"

"W-Wait a minute!" I said, whispering as well. "Where are you taking me?!"

Sherlock sighed impatiently, biting his lip with a glance at the school. "Come on! You'll find out when we get there!" He tugged again, a little more urgently this time, his eyes sparkling. My eyebrows pinched together in confusion, but I took off with Sherlock nevertheless, and ended up following him deep into the forest that was off-limits to students and staff alike.

He dashed expertly through the tall trees, nearly leaving me behind a couple of times, but he stopped after every few feet to wait for me. He lead me to a clearing full of moss covered rocks, vines, and trees that you couldn't see the top of from the ground. It was a small little clearing, but it was cozy. There was a small pile of wood stacked off to the left, what looked like a first-aid kit next to that, and a nicely-sized briefcase. He left me at the edge of the clearing and scampered over to a large rocky overhang, disappearing into the darkness inside for a moment before returning with a long, slender case in one hand and a plastic baggy full of papers in the other.

He tossed the bag to me, the outside glossy with rainwater and dew, but the papers inside seemingly safe.

"Read them," he said as he knelt down to unlock the long case he set on the ground with a key he pulled from one of his coat pockets. "Tell me what you think of them."

I didn't bother with the papers just yet, watching Sherlock carefully to see what he was doing. Once he got his case unlocked, he pried it open with his slender, pale fingers and gently reached inside, pulling out a wooden musical instrument with the utmost care. He caressed it for a moment before again reaching inside the case to pull out a long stick with some sort of hair running its length. He later explained that the instrument was a violin, and that the stick was the bow, and without one, you couldn't have the other. I watched as he rested the violin on his shoulder, snuggling his chin against the chinrest, and closing his eyes, raising his bow and beginning to play.

The tune was oddly beautiful, but in a creepy way almost. It was a quirky, exciting tune that bounced around, trying to fill the gaps in the air where the animals had gone silent. It got my heart racing listening to its sound. He used quick, short bow strokes, his fingers a blur on the strings, his face completely void of emotion, and his eyebrows raised high as he played furiously.

In less than five seconds, he suddenly changed songs, playing something melodious and deep, going super low on the strings, then suddenly super high, each note pristine and clear in the sharp air. His face finally was more than a mask now, his expression longing and distant. For a second he was turned away from me, so I couldn't see his face, but I was almost positive his eyes were open once more, because his passion went down a few notches, and he was suddenly playing softly.

"Are you going to read those papers, or not?" he asked in a cool tone, not breaking in his playing. Suddenly, I was pulled from the trance he had cast on me with his violin. He turned, a small smirk playing on his lips. "If not, I'll have to lead you back to school."

"I'm going, I'm going," I said, hastily pulling out the papers from their wet bag and tossing it carefully aside. I turned the papers over in my hands, scanning the pages. They seemed to be some sort of records, photos of men and women dressed in orange uniforms holding numbers paper-clipped to the stack. I looked through each one of the papers, every one of them with a glaring red stamp on them declaring "UNSOLVED" or "RELEASED". Some even said "CASE SOLVED".

"What are they?" I asked, looking up confusedly at Sherlock. His smirk turned into a devious grin as he leaped up onto a rock, his bow gliding fluidly across the strings of his violin.

"Why, I'm glad you asked," he said, spinning on the tip of his shoe on the rock. "They're cases of my father's. He was a policeman, worked in Scotland Yard, to be exact. I looked through all his cases, read them all, and took out the ones where I didn't come to the same conclusion…" His expression grew hard, his eyes glittering with hidden anger. "Or where they simply gave up and released the criminal, or didn't even bother to finish the case at all."

"Oh…" I said, looking back down at the cases in my hand. "So, what're you showing them to me for?"

Sherlock stopped playing, hopping off his rock and setting his violin gently in his case, striding over to squat next to me. "I wanted to see what you thought of them. I wanted to see if you came to the same conclusion as I did, or as Scotland Yard did."

I nodded, still a little confused as to why he chose me for the task, but didn't protest, reading through the first case.

"Hey…" I said, scrunching my face in confusion again. "It's obvious his sister committed the crime. I mean, that's where all the evidence points to, at least." I shrugged. "I don't see anything wrong with their conclusion. What was yours?"

He looked rather disappointed for a long moment, his eyes searching mine, as if he was wondering if I was actually telling the truth, then he sighed, taking the papers from my hands and standing to retrieve their bag.

"…It's nothing. Never mind. You can go back to the schoolhouse now." He slipped the papers into the bag and closed it up, locking his violin case and disappearing into the cave the outcrop of rock made. I waited awhile, but he didn't come back out.

"I said you can go home," he said from the darkness. I stood up carefully, slowly making my way to the mouth of the miniature cavern.

"Did I do something wrong?" I asked in confusion. I heard some shuffling inside the cave before Sherlock approached me again, finally emerging from the shadows.

"Did I say you did something wrong?" he countered coolly. I frowned.

"No, but you're acting like it." He smiled.

"Would you like to come back tomorrow, Genevieve?" he asked with a small laugh. I blinked, and realized that, yeah. I really wanted to come back tomorrow. And the next day, and maybe he could play another song for me…

"I would quite like that," I said, adopting a small smile myself. Sherlock laughed again, this time a little more than a chuckle.

"Good. I'll meet you here at recess."

"It's settled then."

We exchanged few endearing parting words before I left to make my way out of the forest, glancing up at the sky to see it was getting dark. Mum was probably worried, as school let out a long time ago. And she never appreciated it when I came home late for dinner.


End file.
